


What the General Commands

by K_Popsicle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Authority Figures, F/M, Face Slapping, Light Dom/sub, Older Woman/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Overwhelmed Poe, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23526916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Popsicle/pseuds/K_Popsicle
Summary: Poe is invited to dinner with General Organa. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but if asked, this wasn’t it. Not that he’s complaining.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Leia Organa
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31
Collections: Party in the GFFA: Star Wars Flash Exchange 2020





	What the General Commands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/gifts).



> A little late to the Party but hope you enjoy it all the same.

General Organa invites him to dinner and Poe’s not sure why but he arrives at her rooms promptly in his most grease free outfit.

“Poe, I’m glad you came,” she greats kindly, and presses his hand before letting him into her room.

There’s a table set up, two plates and all the cutlery and trimmings an ex-princess could need. She’s dressed in something a little less formal, a soft buttoned white shirt with flowing sleeves, a floor length skirt in dark brown, and an over jacket with no sleeves and heavy embroidery. She looks, as always, stunning.

“General.” He closes the door as he steps through, and she motions for him to lock it. He does even though it seems strange and her smile is reassuring as he takes a seat at the table.

“If I don’t lock it occasionally,” she explains conspiritally with an amused twist of her ips, “they never leave me alone.” It soothes his confusion and he eases into the meal.

It’s incredibly well cooked, the better of their rations, though she’d never ask for such things. Everyone in the Resistance would cut their own hand off to give her that little bit more comfort, she has done so much for the galaxy already and few of them forget it.

She asks him about the status of ships, the trajectory for repair, the equipment they sorely need and what they can cope without. She asks after droid repair, and the members on his squadron he thinks are putting in the extra miles, which ones can be relied on a bit more. He has the feeling she’ll remember everything he tells her, like it’s important. It’s a strategic meeting under the soft glow of candles but this is all familiar. He laughs at her jokes, finds her company less intimidating than it ever was before, and thinks he knew why they’d all die for her before, but feels it more acutely than before.

“So Poe,” she says once she’s folded her napkin and looked him over.

He sits at attention, knows it’s required of him because her tone has changed, become a little harder.

“I’d like to have sex.” She says without fanfare.

“What?” He sits rigged in shock and she gives a little smile of bemusement.

“Sex.” She repeats slowly, firmly, and he’s at panic stations but can’t move. “I’d like to have it,” she says clearly, “with you.”

“Why me?” He asks with a squeak and then instantly is horrified by both his voice and the question. This is a joke, or a mistake? He’s not sure which, but there’s nothing that is happening right now that makes sense.

“Well,” she drawls in her roughened voice, and it’s huskier than usual. Poe can tell the difference and is alarmed that he can hear it. “There are some advantages to being a princess-” she starts.

“I bet.” He can’t help saying, and she smiles in genuine amusement.

“But there are also disadvantages.” She finishes and he realises she’s unbuttoning the collar of her shirt. He looks at the door, and she catches his chin and turns him back to face her. “None of that.” She warns and he stills. “We all have needs, as I’m sure you know,” she smiles cheekily at him, “but as a general and a princess there are few occasions when I can have mine met.” She holds his chin, one finger stroking his cheek thoughtfully. Her fingers are soft, her wrist smells like one of those pretty flowers he’s seen at expensive markets but under it he can still smell soap and a hint of gun oil.

“This isn’t an order,” she sighs and releases him, “think of it as an offer.”

“An offer?” He checks, rooted to his seat. she undoes another button, and he can see the top curve of her breasts and feels dirty for seeing them. Dirty for letting himself look.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to pin me down and fuck me hard, Poe?” She asks in a way that ratchets through his brain and short circuits all thought. Because of course, of course he has. They all- no-one has ever not wanted to- it wouldn’t be possible to not want that. But she’s Princess Leia, or General Organa. It’s one thing to bite your pillow and thing about wrecking her perfect countenance with a rough dicking, it’s another thing entirely to have her offer it to him like he’d be doing her a favour.

He swallows, tries to remember how to speak, and realises he doesn’t know what to say.

The princess looks at him, she’s got wrinkles around her eyes up this close, smile lines and frown lines alike. She’s got bright vivid eyes, and her hair is in perfect order, pinned in place by a dark blue broach that looks more expensive than all his personal belongings.

“Well, Poe Dameron?” She asks, and his mouth is dry, his cock half hard and he knows he will never ever be offered this again if he walks away.

“Order me.” He begs because he can’t make up his mind. He wants to, but intrinsically he can’t do it- but if she ordered him-

She needs no convincing he realises a moment later when she’s stood, caught his chin and lifted it up until his neck strains.

“Poe Dameron, make me come with that clever tongue of yours,” he breathes through his nose, pupils blown and waiting, “and that,” she clarifies as she hovers over him, “is an order.”

He hits the ground hard, his knee’s protest, but he’s fighting to get her skirts up over his head and she’s sighing before he’s even done anything. He savours the noise, lets it ease his doubts and crawls up between her thighs to press his face against her damp undergarments.

“Wait, hold on.” She orders, and he nearly pulls back, so she twists her fingers around the back of his head through the skirt and pushes him in harder while she walks them both a step backwards so she can rest the edge of her ass on the little table they just ate dinner at. “Good boy,” She murmurs when she’s stilled, “good boy.” And he’s never felt so turned on in his life. She eases her death grip on his head, and he rubs his nose against the hidden cleft of her, licks a stripe against the cotton there, and pulls back.

He slides his hands up her bare legs, feels them warm under his touch and peppers her covered cunt with kisses until his fingers have hooked over the bands hiding her and begun to pull them down. He follows the material down, bites gently at a thigh, kisses a knee, runs his nose along her upper calf but can’t go further whilst under the folds of her skirts. Her lifts her ankle to free her of the underwear and then repeats the process on the other side before he mouths along her left leg on his way back up.

“You like to drag things out, don’t you fly boy?” She criticises above him and reprimanded he gets to the task, sliding his tongue through her folds and lapping at that soft core of her, nose pressed against her clit as he makes himself comfortable one hand wrapped around her left thigh, the other resting on her slightly bent knee. He ignores himself, ignored the throb of his excitement and focuses only on her needs.

She makes breathless little noises above him, grinds up into his face when he gets a rhythm she likes her fingers digging into the back of his scalp and urging him closer, harder, so he gives what he can. Delves deep with his tongue, in and out, lathes the breadth of her and does it all again until she starts making choked off noises and telling him to go faster.

His face is wet from her juices, his nose sore from the angle it’s bending so he can give her the attention she deserves, his neck twinging with the effort to hold the position, but he refuses to budge until she’s done. Refuses to disappoint her when he can feel the muscles in her cunt twitch around his thick tongue and knows that she’s close. How long, he wonders, has it been since she could let go like this? How long since she was allowed a moment to herself. How long since she let lose.

A hand smacks the back of his head in reprimand and he jolts into her startled. “Focus on what you’re doing.” She admonishes, and he apologises by blowing gently against her clit and getting back to the rhythm. It’s easy to find a second time, easy to feel that tension and twitch of her body as he finds the things she likes and he knows she’s there when she lets his head go, locks a leg over his shoulder and her thighs tense around the sides of his head. Her heel digs into his spin and the noise he hears is almost as good as the taste on his tongue that he cleans diligently until she hits him in the back of the head again.

“Out of there.” She orders, and he’s so fast to obey it would be embarrassing, but he’s rock hard, hot, and willing to do anything for the slightest relief. As he passes one foot he considers kissing the curve of it, but she’s given an order and he must obey as fast as he can.

The air outside of the hallow he’d made between her legs is cool against his skin, the air less humid, and he sits back on his heels and watches his commanding officer like a hawk.

There are tendrils of her hair lose, the table has rocked back from its original spot, and there is a high flush on her cheeks that makes her seem younger and more beautiful. Her breathing is laboured, but calming, and he knows he did all of that, he made that happen. It soothes him while he waits for the next order, cock hard, hands on his knees and desperately wanting.

“You didn’t-” she arches a brow and he shakes his head sharply. He couldn’t have given her the attention she deserved if he’d been half focused. Her smile is stunning, and she takes her coat off to drape it over the chair beside her. “What do you want then?” She asks conversationally, but there’s promise in those words. His mouth dries at the possibilities but they all seem too much, too much to ask for, too much to consider. He knows he can’t do any of this without her permission. She sighs. “Come here then,” she orders and he goes to stand but her foot on his shoulder stops him. He stops, and she presses down, he bows to the pressure, going to all fours and holds perfectly still. “Like that,” she decides, stands, and moves to a large cushion across the room and waits above it.

He can see her underwear on the floor where he’d left it, pretty white things drying out even in the cool, and he thinks about her moving across the room open and still damp from him and breathes through the tight knot in his lower belly.

“Come to me like that,” She orders, and he does, crawls across the room to her, painfully hard and half delirious to know that if she sent him away right now he’d accept it, curl into his bed and jerk off to the memory of her cunt clenching around his tongue. Delirious to know he’d made her happy even if only for a short while.

He nearly crawls onto the cushion at her feet but she stops him with a sharp slap to the face. He jolts, and she pets the pink mark and explains, “The cushion is for me. Old knees you know. Now sit up.”

He goes to protest she’s not old, but she folds down onto the cushion with the kind of grace only a princess could have and he’s distracted by the intent in her actions.

“Now I’m tired,” she explains further, “and you seem overwhelmed. So I’m going to give you my hand, and that’s all you’ll get. Is that clear?” He nods, and like a quick viper she has his pants open and his underwear pushed aside to make room for her fist. She spits into her hand, holds him tightly, and stares into his eyes. “Now hurry up.” She orders and does no more. He needs no more permission before he’s rutting forward into that tight grip taking any and everything she’s willing to give him. He goes to hold her wrist and she slaps him again with her spare hand so he folds his hands behind his back dutifully and pumps his hips forward and back chasing the orgasm that’s been building in him since she first propositioned him. It takes barely any time before his coming across her delicate wrist, white painting droplets on a princess’s skin.

He looks up in apology and she lifts her wrist to her little mouth and licks it off absently. His cock twitches with a last effort to do more, but he’s spent. Instead he watches as she raises from the floor, a little ungainly to get her legs back under her, and buttons her shirt back into place. She unclips her hair and her watches it cascades across her shoulders. That action seems more intimate than anything else that’s happened and he is struck by the absolute beauty of her. When she is put together she looks down at him as if surprised he is still there, but she has not told him to leave so he waits with his hands behind his back still staring up in rapt attention.

“That will be all, Poe.” She dismisses, and he scrambles to put himself back together, knowing that he looks fucked out and a mess compared to her ethereal beauty. He does his best though, terrified of what would be thought of him if he encountered someone in the hall, what they might thing he made her do. When he unlocks the door she calls out, “and Poe?” he looks back at her in anticipation, “I’m free for dinner again three nights from now, join me.”

He wets his lips and says, “Yes Your Highness.” before he steps outside.


End file.
